6.2.07

I really hate when people borrow my things without asking. Particularly books. I admit that I'm persnickety about my books. But they are, in fact, my books.

I came home the other day to find one of my books missing from its place on the shelf. I knew who the culprit was, but that knowledge did little for me. Just because we share a space doesn't mean you get to use everything in that space at your leisure. I don't take things from other people without asking - or at the very least letting them know (this last part goes with a longstanding homestead act that is specific to my sisters and me).

The biggest problem, though, is that I know that the borrower of this book has, most likely, taken this book into the bathroom. I don't want to think about this horrifying fact, but it is the key reason I wouldn't want this person to borrow books. I suppose I should have this discussion with people when the first book is lent - to indicate the trend for the rest of the book-borrowing to come. I tend to forget that this is common practice, though (that people take books into the bathroom). It seems an odd and unsanitary habit to me, but then, I'm a germophobe.

Maybe to solve the problem I'll just let the book become a gift and I'll get a new, fresh copy. That really kills two birds with one stone, anyway. That way the book wasn't so much taken without asking as given and I get to maintain my certainty that the book was never proximate to poo. I'm a genius.

Wilbur sat across the livingroom tonight and said to me, "Why do you have that evil look on your face?" This is not the first time in the last few days that he's said this kind of thing. "Why are you looking at me like that?" has also been popular. The other thing he said tonight - in regard to a blog written by someone he went to college with (a poor excuse for writing with abject "who"/'whom" confusion among myriad other problems) - after I said it might get a comment from me was, "You're not going to be cruel are you?"

I don't know where this whole string of questions came from. Wilbur and I have known each other for 16 or 17 years. I have never willfully harmed Wilbur or anyone else. Sure, I've hurt Wilbur's feelings. It wasn't on purpose. I never thought, "Oh, how can I make Wilbur feel like shit today?" But Wilbur has been picking lately. Everything is a direct affront to Wilbur.

I know why he's cranky. I know he wants a cigarette. And he's done really well for the last two and a half weeks - sucking gross lozenges and taking anti-depressants to combat the urge. It's worthy of applause. So I attribute this latest round of pokes to a nicotine craving. Possibly he's in the mood for a fight. He has these moments every few years.

The last time this sort of thing happened, he was sure I had purposefully embarrassed him. Which is in the same vein as this latest round of things. Insults is, I guess, the real word for it. I find it tiresome. But I'm not going to get into a semantic arguement. And despite what Wilbur might believe, I have nothing more to say.

I am many things. I'm often impatient. I'm willing to express my opinion (sometimes bluntly). I'm guarded about my feelings. I'm like an elephant with the things I remember (so much so that sometimes I pretend to forget things so I don't really freak people out). I'm decisive and I'm willing to live with my decisions.

I know that sometimes these things manifest themselves in ways that are unpleasant to other people. I might say something that they don't really want to hear or not say something they want to know. I may hurt someone's feelings. It's never intentional. Which is what leads me to what I am not.

I'm not going to lose sleep over the fact that someone may have had their feelings hurt by me in the course of life. Feelings get hurt. I am not here for anyone else's entertainment.

There are plenty of other things I'm not: sweet, perky, particularly affectionate - to name just a few (and I'm not looking for suggestions), but I am also not mean or cruel (the difference between the two is subtle but worth differentiation). I'm not plotting against people. I occasionally wish to tell someone what an idiot they are and occasionally do. Finally, I am not interested in ever explaining this again.